To Hera

Hera, cow-eyed beauty, you are a sane mind among millions unsane.  You are a distant planetoid, cold and blue, like your eyes.  On autumnal plains, an oak grows in perpetual twilight.  Nestled within its tangled branches, a multitude lurks.  Like a willow in the wind, you bend.  Water carves stone.  Land drifts, imperceptibly on currents of invisible lava.  Stars grow heavy with helium.  Breathe, Hera.  Silence.